A Last Resort?
by edleweiss
Summary: The night before the Ffoulkeses' wedding, Marguerite questions the advice that Sir Percy has given Sir Andrew.


A/N: As I was sifting through some old word documents, I came across this piece that I had started eons ago. It was not quite finished and I tried to complete it, although I am not entirely pleased with it as I no longer had the momentum of a new story…Regardless of the complications in finishing this story up, I still like the general idea and hope that you enjoy it.

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As he slowly opened the door, Sir Percy Blakeney was surprised to find the lights of the bedroom still lit and his wife seated at her dressing table. He paused with his hand on the door handle, enthralled by the sight of her pulling the silver plated brush, a wedding gift from himself, through her auburn hair. As late as it was, he permitted himself the indulgence of watching for a moment. Ever since their recent reconciliation, this mundane task had fascinated him and the return to Blakeney Manor had done little to break the spell. But tonight, after catching a glimpse of her exhausted, glazed expression in her reflection in the mirror, Percy was able to shake free from his fascination and slipped into the chamber.

The movement of the door caught the lady's eye and when she turned to acknowledge him, he brushed his lips across hers in greeting. With a sigh, she returned to her task, peering into the mirror, past her reflection to watch as Sir Percy sat and began to pry his boots off.

"Pray, what was the matter with Sir Andrew?" Marguerite inquired, although the smirk on her face betrayed that she already knew the answer. She had spent most of the morning with her young friend, Suzanne de Tourney, due to become Lady Ffoulkes in the morning. The poor girl's nerves were addled by the fast approach of her wedding day and had sought out her friend's comfort and advice. That evening, Suzanne's anxious expression had been echoed by her betrothed's furrowed brow when he had been admitted to the sitting room, fretfully wringing his riding gloves. Upon seeing Ffoulkes' ashen complexion, Percy had led his friend to his study. Assuming that he shared little Suzanne's jitters, Marguerite had retired to anticipate her husband's report.

"There is nothing wrong with Ffoulkes that won't be cured by this time tomorrow." Percy chuckled as he freed his foot and massaged the aching toes. Without looking up, he knew that his wife was watching him through the mirror, as if to urge him to continue.

He sighed, "He has listened to our…" for a moment, he paused to consider his wording, "banter for too long and it seems that it has made him unsure of the merits of marriage."

The brush clattered to the surface of the vanity. "Mon Dieu! Percy, you reassured him, didn't you?" She begged as she swiveled around to face her husband.

"La, m'dear, I'm afraid that my reply did not quite calm his nerves, but the brandy that I gave poor Andrew worked miracles—"

"What did you say to him, Percy?"

"I simply explained that marriage was the logical option. Perpetual bachelorhood would be a rather solitary life," he paused for a moment, letting his lips twitch with amusement at some jest yet untold, while he shrugged out of his waistcoat, "naturally he would have to take a mistress to alleviate the loneliness." Percy savored the effect that his words had on his wife and draped the coat across a chair, carefully folding it to preserve the expensive silk lining. He then turned his attention to picking out the knot in his cravat as he continued.

"Ffoulkes firmly expressed his opposition to...impugning Mam'zelle de Tourney's honor. I of course corrected him, pointing out that little Suzzane has too much honor to accept such an arrangement. But when I suggested that he could find someone else to fill the role, he made it quite clear that his attachment to the young lady would not allow him to form a liaison with any other women. This of course, along with his sudden aversion to matrimony, eliminates the possibility of offering the coveted position of Lady Ffoulkes to another. So her honor, his heart, and my logic clearly make the man's decision for him."

His wife shook her head in disbelief at her husband's tale and remarked flatly, "I am glad to know that you gave him the brandy for your theory might have dissuaded even your King Henry VIII from ever marrying. You, Sir Percy, have turned marriage into a last resort!"

Laughing, he untwined the linen from his neck, "The _brandy_ was the last resort. I had first tried to calm his panic by stating that he and Suzanne were more likely to suffer boredom than an estrangement. "

Marguerite rolled her eyes at her husbands' insensitivity and climbed into the great bed. Leaning back amongst the pillows, she watched as the nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and winced as he hauled it over his head revealing yellow remnants of the bruising left on his back from the beating that he had born that night under the cliffs in Calais. Percy quickly pulled on his night shirt, sparing her from lingering on the pitiful wounds, and began extinguishing the candles to darken the room.

Seeing her concerned expression, he mistook it for further anxiety over their friends. "Stop fretting, dear heart! Andrew will sleep soundly tonight and marry little Suzanne in the morning." He kissed her forehead and lay down beside her.

"It is not Andrew's fears that concern me. It is your apparent discontent with married life."

Marguerite felt her husband shift beside her as he raised himself up onto his elbows. "Why ever would you fear that?" He whispered, studying her features as best as he could in the dim light.

"You just presented the whole concept of marriage to poor Andrew as a last resort!"

For a moment, he remained silent as he recalled the rest of the conversation that he was entirely too British to confess to even his wife:

_"Egads Andrew!" He had exclaimed, after fleshing out his ridiculous argument, "You can't tell me that you don't love the girl! We both know that it was thoughts of her weeping for her poor father that coaxed you to trust Lady Blakeney and fly to France against my express orders!" _

_In vain, Ffoulkes had attempted to deny his chief's accusations, but Percy, in the flippant manner of the fop, had dismissed his lieutenant's refutations with a wave of his hand. "I recognize it, Andrew, because it was with the same hatred of tears in the eyes of a beloved lady that had sent me across the channel the day before, unwilling to spare a moment to recruit the help of Tony or Hastings!_

"_Don't you realize, Ffoulkes, that because of her family's situation she will wed someone else if she doesn't marry you? Surely you can't believe that that blasted Comtesse could resist the wealth and titles that will certainly be offered in exchange for the fair Suzanne's hand! Tell me Andrew, could you stand to see her bound to someone she didn't love simply for fear of the occasional tiff?" Here his lips had pressed themselves into a firm line and he had paused a moment to calm the surge of emotion that he had felt as he had thought of his Margot in a similar situation. "Could you bear to know that you could have saved her from the unhappiness of a loveless marriage and yet had stood silently by and done nothing?"_

He smiled gently. "Perhaps I should be concerned as _you_ were the one to label my theory of marriage as a last resort." Percy silenced his wife's protest as he pulled her into his embrace. Placing his lips near her ear, he continued, "As for me, you needn't worry your pretty head, for I see marriage as the best option for men such as Andrew and myself who are so incurably in love with their wives."


End file.
